The Little War

In this little war, the speed of the eye is null and akin to nothing. No one knows this.

Still, it theorizes,

of this.

Together, we do not move or forage or forest. Reader, what do you know of muteness? Of the world so strange and of the haunt of numbers?

I want

to know what you carry

…there…

(if it is a key, give it.)

It feels like a battle. A hidden one. A hidden, little, one. Subtle-like, where my feet do not leave prints. The air does not capture my breath. My hair does not hit the floor, it flies up to a tree where it harvests a nest for someone/thing else. Nothing shoots. Nothing loads. No thing screams, but I know something inside wants.

I don’t know what is beneath the exterior, or the virtual. I am losing. Alignment is losing. Thought is losing. Feeling is latching to some thing some where.

readings

I agree with Jeanette on e-books

From Jeanette Winterson's March 2011 Column
"I am a romantic and prefer the full-strength version that you can drop in the bath. They have not made a water-proof e-book yet. And when you leave a book dropped in the bath on the side to dry, it has a survivor-feel to it. It has a history. Your e-book can never have a history because it can’t age as you do."